


Overture

by prairiecrow



Series: Overture [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/F, Love Recognized, M/M, Telepathy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gift — especially of the truth — can change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Set post-"The Wire".

"Tell me," the Alsergian diplomat said, gazing directly into Julian Bashir's eyes as she repeated the question she'd asked a little over a week ago, "what is love?"  
  
Julian met her gaze evenly this time, without blinking. The first time the question had been posed to him he'd been standing with Commander Sisko, Major Kira and Lieutenant Dax at one of the station's airlocks, greeting the Gamma Quadrant delegation and prepared (he'd thought) for anything. The Alsergians were said to be that rarest of combinations, telepaths and empaths both, and to function as a hive mind; they also possessed trading rights to large amounts of luranium alloy, which was what was being negotiated during this visit… or would be negotiated, if the Alsergians found the inhabitants of the Alpha Quadrant worthy of such a gift. The contingent of five identically dressed women who emerged from their sleek starship would take up posts around the station for a full week and simply "listen" to the daily life of Deep Space Nine, a prospect that Sisko was on record as not being particularly fond of… but there wasn't much he could do about it, not when Bajor was in desperate need of luranium to help with its recovery efforts, so he'd greeted the first Alsergian through the airlock with a slight smile:  
  
******************************  
  
"Welcome to Deep Space Nine. I am Commander Sisko, and —"  
  
The Alsergian, who looked identical to her compatriots except for slight variations in styles of hair, interrupted him. "— and you are not pleased that we have come. It is of no consequence. The mind-blind often experience disquiet at our auditing." She looked into his eyes, seeming to see far deeper; Julian, fascinated, almost fancied he could feel a hum of increasing power. "Tell me, Benjamin Sisko of Deep Space Nine, what is love?"  
  
It was a startling question to pose immediately upon meeting representatives of a potential trading partner, and not one they'd been warned to expect, but Sisko recovered within two seconds. "Love," he said slowly and thoughtfully, "is the quality that binds us together, no matter what happens to drive us apart."  
  
After a moment the Alsergian nodded, and one of her companions spoke up, looking at Dax: "Tell me, Jadzia who is also Dax, what is love?"  
  
Jadzia, of course, smiled serenely and responded at once: "Love is one of the things that brings meaning to life, no matter how long it is lived."  
  
Another Alsergian, another question, this time addressed to Kira: "Tell me, Kira Nerys of Bajor, what is love?"  
  
Kira was clearly caught flat-footed; she looked to Sisko in disbelief, and when the Commander offered a tiny nod she met the penetrating gaze of the delegate and stated almost defiantly: "Love is what makes us fight for what matters."  
  
A woman at the back took a step forward, looking at Julian in a way that seemed to slice into the core of his brain. "Tell me, Julian Bashir of Earth, what is love?"  
  
For the span of a second Julian's mind flashed over all the things "love" meant to him: the various women he'd pursued in the last several months, Palis Delon, his troubled relationship with his parents, and his only recently cooled ardour for the slim Trill standing at his side. In the end he opened his mouth and said: "Love is finding someone who completes you, even if the search isn't always entirely successful."  
  
The Alsergians nodded in unison, and the fifth woman came from the back of the group to take Sisko's elbows in her hands and tilt her head back. Taking the cue, he bent — she was considerably shorter than he — and let her rise on tiptoes to press her forehead briefly to his. When that greeting was completed she stepped aside and allowed her fellow delegates to repeat it with the Commander, and when all had offered the salute they spoke as one: "We will judge you fairly, Peoples of the Alpha Quadrant. Take us to your marketplaces and your places of power, that we may come to know you for who you truly are."  
  
And that was that. The Alsergians weren't interested in talking with any of the senior staff about politics or negotiations, or even with asking questions of anyone on the Promenade or in Ops: they simply took up their positions to one side of the action and observed with keen eyes and ears — and other senses far less obvious to the casual observer. When Julian caught sight of one of them hovering while he and Garak were enjoying their weekly lunch he felt a moment of genuine concern — what sort of spectacle would the mind of an Obsidian Order operative provide for a telempath weighing the value of the races of the Alpha Quadrant? — but he took some comfort in the thought that Cardassians, and agents of their secret police in particular, were rumoured to be highly resistant to mental incursions. Perhaps all the Alsergian saw when she looked at Garak was a pool of impenetrable blackness, which was really the best that could be hoped for under the circumstances.   
  
******************************  
  
By the time the week was over Julian had become a little less aware of the wordless monitors, his gaze gliding over the small aloof figures in Ops or looking through them when he saw them on the Promenade or passed one in a hallway. It was remarkably easy to do so: they moved so quietly and without speaking or attempting to engage anyone, like ghosts in well-coordinated earth-tones (as Garak had wittily dubbed them during lunch). And then one day they'd vanished, withdrawing to their quarters preparatory to getting back in their starship and returning to their mysterious homeland to report. Julian was neither telepathic nor empathic, but he fancied he could still sense a tangible release of tension among the senior staff — he'd made no special effort to moderate his own thoughts, but he knew that Miles had, and had been immensely stressed at the prospect of "queering things up" by virtue of a single inappropriate impulse. Julian's best efforts to reassure him hadn't amounted to much, unfortunately.  
  
He certainly hadn't expected to see one again — but here she was in his Infirmary, indistinguishable from her absent sisters, challenging him with her pale turquoise eyes. He offered her a friendly smile and repeated in his turn: "As I've already mentioned, I think that love is —"  
  
"— finding someone who completes you, even if the search isn't always entirely successful." She wasn't smiling. None of them ever had, not that Julian had heard tell, anyway. "And that is your true belief."  
  
"It is," he agreed, deliberately pushing his sincerity to the forefront of his mind. The one dangerous secret he possessed was a secret he stored so deep that he didn't think about it and therefore had no fear of its discovery, so deep that when he felt a frisson of uneasiness under the Alsergian's penetrating gaze he was honestly puzzled as to why.  
  
The woman raised her left hand, thumb and little finger folded into the palm, remaining fingers delicately extended. "We have a final test for you," she said in a strange tone, like someone trying to convey through speech what was fundamentally incapable of being captured in mere syllables carved from a fleeting breath. "Will you accept a gift, healer?"  
  
"I —" He tried to parse her austere expression and came away blank, but the least potentially damaging response was not hard to calculate. "If you wish to give me one, I would be honoured."  
  
Now, at last, a tiny quirk curved one corner of her thin mouth. Without another word she stepped forward, almost right up against him, and touched her three fingers to the centre of his forehead. For a heartbeat Julian felt nothing different, and then —  
  
— and then all the lights went out.  
  
******************************  
  
 _He lay in the heart of an alien night, black as the grave except for the reflection of a ruddy moon captured in a tilted ebony mirror high overhead. The space was small — a bed? a bower? — and felt secluded and secret; exquisitely filmy curtains, twisted and curved, arched up to the reflective surface above, reminding Julian of an intricately enclosing spider's web or clouds infused with the faintest starlight. He could feel them brushing against his back through the light clothing he was wearing: a sleeveless tunic and loose pants of a gauzy material, his feet bare… and he was happy to be so scantily clad, because the air was heavy and humid and oppressively warm. He felt a tickle on his upper lip and licked away a sharp-salt drop of sweat.  
  
And he wasn't alone. A subtle scent dwelt here with him, and at once his heart rate leaped and a hopeless name — _ Jadzia!  _—_ _sprang to his lips, but died before it was spoken. This perfume was not hers, in fact was not even feminine: there was a darkness to it like the night, a hint of exotic musk that was familiar but frustratingly unplaceable. And staring straight ahead brought him no additional data: he could clearly sense another presence but whoever they were, they hadn't yet materialized.  
  
Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and tried to analyze that taste. Vague images flickered through his mind like shimmers of light surfacing from beneath a deep lake: the gleam of harsh artificial light on metal implements held in his hands, the satisfaction of merely physical appetite, the more refined fulfilment of strenuous intellectual pursuit… and across a small table, a smile that challenged and teased and offered rewards no less gratifying for being so hard-won and fundamentally intangible…   
  
"Julian." He did not recognize the voice at first, although it sent a shiver of icy heat up his spine: he had never heard it speak his given name before, and certainly never infused with that warm husky tone.  
  
Another image of times spent in the light: brilliant eyes that flashed with wry humor and blazed with agonized rage… secrets and lies, half-truths and temptations… a beast of prey prowling its prison, close enough to touch…  
  
"Beautiful, precious, _ priceless _boy…"  
  
A hand, startlingly cool in the hot darkness, slid up under the side of his tunic and around the small of his back. His heart was in his throat, pounding thunderously; all the radiance of his soul and his skin ached for the touch of darkness.   
  
Rich fabrics, cut and sewn with playful elegance, almost completely sheathing a sturdy grey frame…  
  
He could see Garak's eyes now, shining as the moon shone, and the thin gleam of sharp white teeth flashing in the gloom. He reached out and curved his hand around the back of that powerful neck, sinking his fingers into hair distinguishable from the shadows only by its cool silken texture, and leaned forward, breathing in, awake and wanting and fully, eagerly, hungrily alive to everything the night was willing to surrender._  
  
******************************  
  
"And then she showed me…" A brilliant smile bloomed on Miles O'Brien's broad honest face. "She showed me how Molly feels when she sees me coming home at the end of the day." He didn't say anything more, but the radiance lingered in his eyes, filling them to overflowing with warmth and joy.  
  
They were sitting in Quark's, Miles and Jadzia and Kira and Julian and even Odo, discussing the recently departed Alsergian delegation over drinks and sharing what seemed to be a hopeful sign: before taking their leave the diplomats had made a point of seeking out the senior staff and giving them each a telepathic "gift", including Sisko, although nobody knew what he had been offered. Even Quark had been so blessed, and had spent most of the day telling anyone who'd listen that he'd been granted a vision of a clients flowing into his bar, drawn by his good looks and charming personality, to pour rivers of latinum into his coffers.   
  
"Hrmph," Odo opined, folding his arms, but there was something of a similar glow to his own carefully simulated expression. He'd refused to give any details of his own experience beyond noting that he'd been pleased to discover how much he was respected, and all Jadzia's wheedling and Kira's teasing hadn't been able to pry loose anything more than that.   
  
As for the Lieutenant and the Major… they'd refused to discuss it at all, but they'd exchanged a smile and a melting look when asked, and Julian, who knew a thing or two about secrets, could see one there, shining like a jewel through the tissue of their silence. If it was what he suspected it was, he couldn't help but be happy for them: the Alsergian delegates had, it seemed, zeroed in on what could become most important to each of them. Frankly Julian pitied the Federation if that race of telempaths should ever decide to treat them as enemies.  
  
"What about you, Julian?" Jadzia had turned to him, her eyes still shining with all that was unspoken. "You've been awfully quiet."  
  
"Yeah," Miles growled with mock-severity, fixing him with a stern look as he picked up his pint of ale. "Fair's fair. I spilled my guts — now it's your turn."  
  
Looking around at their expectant faces, Julian thought of the Alsergian diplomat's final words before taking her leave:  _The true test of any answer is the courage to live it. Will you make us proud, Julian Bashir of Earth?_  
  
"Oh, just something about my parents," he said, and since Garak was indeed probably old enough to be his father he counted it close enough to truth, and left it at that.  
  
THE END


End file.
